by Kat Ross
“I suppose it could be possible,” Basileus said thoughtfully.
“More than possible. And if they can use one talisman, they can use another.”
“You’re speaking of Thena.”
Nico nodded. “Promise her anything you want. She can be disposed of later.” In fact, Nicodemus would make sure of it. If Basileus was a snake, Thena was a rabid dog. “Don’t tell her why she can use the talismans. I don’t think that would go over very well.”
“No, my lord. I’m certain it wouldn’t.”
“Tell her Apollo has granted her special power. She’ll like that. Here’s what she must do.”
He paced up and down, laying out his plan. Basileus listened in silence.
“I will be Tyrant of Delphi?”
“You will be Tyrant. That I swear.”
“And if it goes wrong?”
Nico laughed mirthlessly. “There are a hundred ways it could go wrong. But if it works, we’ll be rid of Domitia. And Nazafareen will have no choice but to kill Gaius.”
“I suppose it would be fitting,” Basileus conceded. “But why don’t you just—”
“I have my reasons,” Nico interrupted coldly. “The main question is whether the girl will go for it.”
“If she doesn’t, we will be exposed.”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I think she will,” Basileus said finally. “Though with all due respect, I’m not sure if you’re a genius or an imbecile.”
Nico gave a thin smile. “Nor am I, Archon. Nor am I.”
15
Caligula
When Cyrene died, Nazafareen was unable to watch anymore. She let the scene in the globe vanish. No one objected.
Megaera and Rhea embraced each other, crying silently. Herodotus seemed to have aged ten years. His hands, usually tugging at his beard or scribbling on a piece of vellum, hung limp at his sides, his gaze blank. Kallisto leaned on her staff, whispering to herself. Perhaps she was praying. Nazafareen stifled a nasty laugh.
Let Kallisto have her imaginary god. Nazafareen had no use for him anymore.
Her gaze followed Darius as he strode off into the twilight. He stopped about a hundred paces away and put his hands to his face. Then he straightened and stood there, staring at the darkness to the east.
She looked at the stiff lines of his back, the dark hair curling against the collar of his coat, and wondered what he was thinking. If he blamed her.
He had every right to. If she hadn’t pushed to go to Val Moraine, they would have been marching with the Danai.
Or maybe he was angry at himself. The last time he saw his mother, he hadn’t treated her kindly.
Nazafareen returned the globe to her pocket. She felt an eerie calm, though it masked a rage so catastrophic she held it in a tight vise, to be unleashed at the proper time.
Once, he would have slammed his walls down and built a protective shell. Once, she would have let him brood. But now he needed her.
Nazafareen walked over and put her arms around him. He pressed his cheek against her forehead—it was scratchy, she noticed distantly, he needed to shave—and though he didn’t make a sound, her own face grew wet with his tears.
After some time, he gently unwound her arms.
“Give me a minute alone,” he said, his voice rough but steady.
She nodded, still not quite trusting herself to speak, and walked over to Daníel and Katrin, who waited with the wounded. Only three of the company had survived, two Valkirins and the Danai who’d joked about it being hot in Delphi. She nursed a broken arm and was sharing a water skin with one of the Valkirins. The other was barely alive and Nazafareen doubted he’d last another hour.
She saw her own hatred reflected in Daníel’s eyes. If he was afraid, he covered it well. But Katrin looked shaken. For the first time, she didn’t sneer as Nazafareen approached.
“The mounts have to rest,” Katrin said. “They can’t make the Gale in this condition. It’s another fifty leagues.”
“How long?”
“A few hours.”
“Fine.”
The delay chafed, but what did a few hours matter? Every beat of the Pythia’s heart marked the countdown to her death.
Katrin jerked her chin toward Darius. “They were his close kin?”
“His mother and grandmother. Cousins.”
Nazafareen thought of Tethys’s garden and the centuries she must have spent tending it. Would anyone care enough to save it? Or would it slowly be devoured by the forest?
Katrin nodded slowly. It was strange to see sympathy on the woman’s face. Her primary emotions seemed to be fury and condescension, but she had her own ghosts.
“He’ll manage,” Nazafareen said. “I wouldn’t go near him for a while though.”
Her voice sounded so cold. Daníel frowned and Nazafareen turned away before he could see the truth. That she was on the verge of a precipice so deep and dark it might swallow her whole if she took a wrong step.
“When it’s over, we’ll return our dead to the crypts,” Daníel said in a tight voice. “And the Danai to their forest. But for now we should protect them from carrion. I can make a shield of air.”
Nazafareen cast a glance at Darius, who remained where he was, apart and unmoving. She left him there and went to Rhea and Megaera.
“Will you help us gather the dead?” she asked.
Megaera was red and puffy, Rhea pale and hollow-eyed.
“Of course,” Megaera mumbled.
“Charis and Cyrene,” Nazafareen began. Saying their names nearly punctured her self-control and she paused, feeling the weight of Nemesis against her shoulder, the dry air in her lungs. She imagined the Pythia pleading for mercy she would never receive. “They fought well.”
“Yes,” Rhea replied, her throat convulsing once. “They fought well.”
“When the mounts have rested, we’ll ride for the Gale. We will avenge them. Completely and utterly.”
“It will be done,” Megaera growled, something of her old self surfacing though the tide of grief.
“I still don’t understand,” Rhea muttered. “Why did the Vatra do it? They would have been far more useful as hostages.”
Nazafareen gave a hollow laugh. “Why else? Because she could.”
“It is more than that, I think,” Kallisto said, coming over with Herodotus. They’d been standing close enough to overhear the exchange. “She’s a calculating creature. Perhaps her aim is to anger you beyond reason. Goad you into making a mistake.”
Nazafareen said nothing.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Kallisto said sternly. “Any blood shed today is on her hands.”
Nazafareen waited. There was obviously more. Some lecture to be delivered.
“Say what you came to say,” she snapped. “We have work to do.”
Kallisto stared at her. “I know you want revenge. All I ask is that you proceed with caution. Don’t let your fury blind you.”
Kallisto meant well, but she didn’t seem to grasp the central fact of Nazafareen’s power. The angrier she was, the greater its destructive power. No magic would stand before her—not spell dust, not talismans, not any of the elements—and the daēvas could easily decimate whatever mortal army the Vatras had brought.
“I won’t,” she said.
Nazafareen felt Kallisto’s dark eyes studying her as she strode off toward Daníel and Katrin.
She forced herself to look at the shattered limbs and ghastly impact wounds as they gathered the bodies and laid them out, Valkirin and Danai side by side. Eventually Darius noticed what they were doing and came to help, though he spoke not a word. Daníel laid a shield of air over the bodies to preserve them until they could be seen to properly. Within minutes, the wind covered it with a fine layer of dust.
The abbadax were too heavy to move, but the Valkirins paid respects to each of them: Alsvinder and Fenrir, Dain and Heidrun, Glaor and Gullfaxi, which meant gold
en feathers.
When it was done, Darius sat down next to Brynjar. He opened one of the saddlebags and took out a water skin, offering it to Nazafareen. His eyes were red but dry.
“Thank you.” As the water touched her cracked lips, Nazafareen realized how thirsty she was. Darius had already found another skin, so she drained it. She sat down next to him, their shoulders touching.
“At least Victor wasn’t here to see it,” he said.
“Darius—” she began.
“It’s all right. I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Must you argue with everything?” he asked wearily.
“Only when I’m right.”
He was silent for a moment, tilting his head back to look at Artemis. Tattered clouds made the moon seem to leer down at them like the grey, bloated face of a corpse. “They didn’t stand a chance. Not a chance.”
“No,” she agreed.
“What if we lose?” His lips thinned. “What if we’ve already lost?”
She knew he’d just suffered an unimaginable loss. His despair was understandable. Yet for an instant, she hated him for it.
“Don’t say that. It’s not true.”
“No?” His gaze searched hers. “Then tell me what winning looks like.”
She had no answer—not that she would speak aloud. But Sauvanne Suchy had made a good start.
The Acropolis and the Temple of Apollo will be razed to the ground. You will die, along with all who follow you. The walls of Delphi will be broken and the Archons cast down.
And the Oracle….
What you did to the Danai is child’s play compared to what I will do to you.
“Whatever advantage the Vatra thinks she has, it won’t be enough. I will destroy her, Darius. I swear it.”
“That won’t bring Delilah back.”
“No, but it will stop the spread of this evil so no others share her fate.”
“I hate this world we’ve come to,” Darius spat, his reserve cracking. “It’s worse than the Empire.”
Nazafareen couldn’t remember the Empire, but she wondered if this were true. From Darius’s description, it was a hellish place to be a daēva. Yet his kind were no better, were they? Danai hating Valkirins, Valkirins hating Danai, Vatras hating everyone. Only the Marakai seemed to have any sense, holding themselves aloof from the other clans except to trade.
How like us they are, she thought darkly. Driven by fear and greed.
“We’re here for a reason,” she said. “To do our duty.”
He closed his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m tired of duty.”
“All the more reason to finish it quickly.” Nazafareen watched Kallisto and Herodotus make their way over. “Here they come. She probably has another lecture planned about keeping a cool head.”
“Can we talk?” Kallisto asked. Herodotus hovered at her side. They both looked at Darius with wary sympathy.
Nazafareen stowed the water skin, every movement deliberate. “Go ahead.”
“You see now what the Vatras are capable of. And if the Pythia is truly Gaius’s daughter, it’s no surprise she’s so ruthless.” She paused. “The other one? That was Nicodemus?”
Nazafareen nodded.
“He didn’t know what she planned, I think. He seemed sickened by it.”
Nazafareen had barely registered the Vatra’s reaction amid her own horror.
“Does it matter?”
“It might.” Kallisto looked at Herodotus. “Tell them what you know about Gaius.”
He nodded. “While the Viper led a force to the Great Forest and the Valkirin holdfasts, Gaius marched on the mortal cities with his own legion. They burned the Marakai ships in the harbor of Delphi, which was then only a large village, and set out for Samarqand. At the time, it was a port city on the Austral Ocean. General Jamadin sealed the gates. Unfortunately, they were made of wood. The Vatras burned them and entered the city, rounding up those who hadn’t already fled in a field now known as the Abicari.”
The name sounded familiar, although Nazafareen couldn’t place where she’d heard it. She thought of all those terrified people. Suddenly, she despised Herodotus.
“I don’t want to hear the end of this story,” she said roughly.
He eyed her with a level gaze. “Nor do I wish to tell it. But I think you should know who your enemies are.”
Nazafareen gave him a cold stare. “Very well.”
“Gaius chose two dozen women for his harem, tearing children from their mothers’ breasts, and slaughtered the rest. He scorched the Rock of Ariamazes and tried to pull it down, but failed. It was Danai work, you see. Built to last for millennia.” Herodotus blinked. “I suppose he would have gotten inside eventually, but then word came that the surviving Danai and Valkirins were marching on Pompeii so he put the city to the torch and left. That was the last they saw of him. He never offered any explanation for why he turned on the mortals.
“Most historians think him mad. One dubbed him Caligula, which means tiny boots in the language of the Vatras. Apparently his feet were quite small.” Herodotus cleared his throat. “The implication being that he might be, ah, diminutive in other anatomical aspects as well.”
Nazafareen snorted. “They could be right. Culach told me the war started because Gaius was rejected by a Danai woman.” She rubbed her stump, thumb caressing the smooth flesh where it met bone. “The Pythia seemed to blame the other clans, but she didn’t mention Farrumohr. If he were loose in the world, I think we’d know it by now.”
“Unless he’s hidden himself,” Darius said. “Taken her body.”
“Then he will die with her.” Her face darkened. “I’ll make certain of it this time.”
They turned at the sound of footsteps. It was Katrin. She stopped a short distance away, one hand resting on the hilt of her broadsword.
“It’s time.” She glanced toward Daníel and the abbadax, which were saddled up and ready to fly. “The wounded will wait until we return for them. Jormun cannot be moved, and there aren’t enough mounts anyway. As it is, we’ll have to ride double.”
Nazafareen stood, a jolt of adrenaline singing through her limbs.
“Who will you take?” she asked, assuming Katrin would prefer Darius at her back.
“You can both have Berglaug. I’ll ride with Daníel.”
Her flat eyes signaled that she didn’t wish to explain this sudden generosity.
Darius nodded. “Thank you.”
Katrin whistled for Berglaug and whispered something to the mount. “There’s no need to cut your palms. She’ll take you without the blood scent.”
“We’ll land the moment we reach Solis,” Nazafareen said. “I’ll be able to break your ward then.”
Katrin gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and vaulted into the saddle behind Daníel. Kallisto and Herodotus, Rhea and Megaera climbed aboard their own abbadax and buckled the harnesses.
As promised, Berglaug accepted Nazafareen and Darius without complaint, though her yellow eyes watched Katrin closely. The Valkirin woman gave a hand signal and the four abbadax climbed into the sky, speeding west across the Umbra. Nazafareen saw no sign of the Pythia’s wind ships, but it wasn’t long before they reached the site of the battle. Darius’s breath hitched as he stared down at the scorched plain.
The bodies of the Danai had been arranged to form an arrow pointing toward the Gale.
He said nothing and she didn’t either. They flew on. Nazafareen kept her eyes fixed on the western sky, now tinted a pale rose. When they reached the outskirts of Delphi, a molten sliver of sun crested the horizon, its light striking her face. The bond with Darius burst to life—sudden pain in his left arm, followed by a tidal flow of other emotions and sensations—and so did her huo mofa. A dark euphoria swelled in her heart. She’d craved both like a balm.
Rich farmland rolled past below, green-gold fields of wheat, stands of olives and dates. People labored in the fields. When they saw the abbadax,
they threw down their hoes and ran.
Nazafareen signaled the others to land in an open pasture near a farmhouse. It was similar to the one that had once belonged to the Maenads, a long, low-slung building of stone and mudbrick. A family spilled out the door as the mounts alit, hurrying for the road that led toward the city. The children were crying. Nazafareen considered calling out and telling them not to be afraid, but they were gone before she had a chance.
And perhaps they were right to be afraid.
She dismounted and walked up to Katrin, who stood a full pace taller. The Valkirin woman squared her shoulders. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts.
“It will hurt,” Nazafareen warned.
Katrin looked disdainful. “I don’t fear pain, mortal.”
“Then what do you fear?” Nazafareen said in an acid tone. “That you are not the chosen one after all? That you are simply weak?”
The anger was trickling through cracks in her walls now, the pressure building.
Katrin gave a tight laugh. “I guess we’ll find out in a minute.” She squinted against the sunlight peeking through the low hills and stripped off her leather coat, tossing it aside. “Fucking hot.”
She wore a sleeveless shirt beneath and her arms were corded with lean muscle that rippled as she moved. Her physique made brawny Megaera look like a ten-year-old girl. Rhea eyed her with frank appreciation.
Katrin thumped her chest, eyes like chips of green ice. “Do it.”
Nazafareen tried to think through the red mist. Her own cuff was a talisman. It hadn’t broken last time with Meb, but she didn’t want to take a chance. She yanked it off the stump and tossed it to Megaera.
“Move away,” she snarled, hardly recognizing her own voice. “All of you.”
Kallisto lingered and Nazafareen cast a pointed look at her staff.
“Stay if you want, but don’t blame me when you lose that.”
Kallisto’s brows drew down but she retreated toward the farmhouse with the others, leaving Nazafareen and Katrin alone in the field. A breeze rippled the wheat. In the grove, she heard the warbling notes of a wren.
